


To Catch a Falling Star

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Star Dome [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Elrond needs a lot of hugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Racism, don't tell Maglor what's going on or he will harm someone, people don't trust you if you love kinslayers, w.i.p.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Adjustments are never easy, and Elrond has lost his birth parents, foster parents, brother, and the entire continent on which he grew up. Gil-Galad tries his best, but even a great king makes mistakes.Note: This is a "sequel" of sorts to my story "As Little Might Be Thought", but it can absolutely be read as a standalone.





	1. Chapter 1

Gil-Galad watched the young elf making his way across the camp, carrying far more wood than someone his size ought to be. He tilted his head, wondering what on Arda had inspired the boy to attempt – and seemingly achieve – such a mad and impossible task. Not too possible though, as Gi-Galad was watching he stumbled and fell, smashing to his knees on the ground and landing with a soft, pained cry. Without thinking the Elven King was on his feet and rushing to help him, bending over him to ensure that he didn't try to lift the heavy load. "Let me take that for you."

The young elf looked up at him, and their eyes met. With a jolt Gil-Galad realized that he did, in fact, know him. "Elrond!" he said happily, smiling warmly.

Since much of their land had fallen into the sea the Noldor had been forced to move from their home by the sea. It was at that time that Elrond had stumbled into their camp with his tragic story. His foster parents had left him; Maedhros falling to his death, and Maglor returning to him and his brother with enough time to tell them of Maedhros' fate and that he was no longer fit to care for them. Elrond had spent time with his brother – who had chosen a mortal's life (and, ultimately, death) – but when he had sailed and left Arda for his new island, Elrond had gone in search of his only remaining kin.

Gil-Galad had always considered himself lucky that Elrond had opted not to follow the remaining Feanorian. Shortly after Elrond arrived at their camp was when Eönwë had warned them of the eminent sinking of the land. If Elrond had gone after Maglor he could have been caught in the flooding and drowned, which was what many suspected to be Maglor's fate. The king had been too busy to watch after him, and had given him to Fegman to look after. He was rather ashamed to admit that, in the chaos that come with mass evacuation, he had completely forgotten about Elrond, and hadn’t managed to check up on him.

"Peredhel!" he cried out, smiling at Elrond and helping him to his feet. "Are you well?"

Elrond flinched at the contact, pulling away slightly and dusting off his pants, frowning at the dirt stains. "My apologies, your highness," he said, "I did not mean to cause you trouble."

"Trouble?" Gil-Galad asked, his eyebrow raised. "There's no trouble Elrond," he promised, grabbing half of the firewood that the young half-elf had been carrying. "Let me help you with that." Any excuse not to return to their dull meetings and Cirdan’s concerned gaze was good enough for him, and he truly did feel guilty about having forgotten to check on Elrond’s wellbeing.

"No!" Elrond cried, grabbing for the wood. "Y- you don't need to. Truly."

Gil-Galad ignored him, holding tighter to his bundle and shaking his head. "Elrond, I insist," he said. He paused for a moment, and then said, "Don't make me make it an order."

He meant it in jest, but perhaps he was out of touch enough that people didn't find such things funny. Elrond immediately bowed his head and looked at his feet, falling silent. "Thank you," he whispered.

Gil Galad nodded and followed Elrond across the camp, carrying the wood to where ever it was he had been going. "Anytime. How are you? Well, I should hope?"

"Very." He didn't sound, or look, very well. Elrond had thinned, but that could easily be attributed to stress and the hardship of their journey. He had lost everything, after all.

Gil-Galad felt guilty for having left him, and placed his hand on his shoulder, saying, "Perhaps you would care to take supper with me?" Someone of Elrond’s lineage could not be left to his own devices, even if Fegman had some noble blood himself.

Elrond shook his head. "I don't wish to be a bother," he said quietly.

"You could never be a bother."

"You've done enough for me already," Elrond replied, still eyeing the wood in Gil-Galad’s hands as though debating how to reclaim it. "I really couldn't take any more of your time."

A warning bell sounded in Gil-Galad's head. He remembered Elrond being optimistic, even as he had first introduced himself and told his tale; even as Eönwë had questioned him about Maglor's whereabouts; even as he had told them he had nowhere to go. Elrond had even managed to smile several times during that terse conversation, and yet, now he was staring at the ground, shoulders slumped as though a great weight was bearing down on him.

"Please. It would be a great honor."

Elrond stopped beside a tent, setting the wood down and digging his toe into the ground. He was wearing the same shoes he had arrived in, and one of the few tunics he had brought, both of which were threadbare and worn looking. It was nearing wintertime, Gil-Galad had ordered that the warm clothes they had be passed out and shared among everyone, but it seemed Elrond had not gotten any himself. Something was very much not right, and Gil-Galad frowned as he asked, "Where's Fegman?"

Elrond swallowed, but pointed wordlessly to a tent down the row. Gil-Galad placed his hand on Elrond's shoulder. "Come with me."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No."

"Then may I leave? I need to fetch more wood."

"No." Gil-Galad stopped outside the tent Elrond had pointed to. "Wait here," he told him, and slipped inside.

Fegman was a short, dark haired elf of Noldorin descent. Although Gil-Galad had never been overly fond of him, he was a hard and efficient worker so he had tolerated his secrecy and quirks. He had remarked once – thinking his king was not present – that it was a shame Gil-Galad wasn't purely Noldorin. Gil-Galad had pretended not to hear, and let the matter drop. Cirdan had never liked him, saying he was rude and callous to the  Tellerin dock workers. Given those habits perhaps placing a man of mixed elven and mortal blood under his care had been a mistake, but Gil-Galad had had other things to worry about at the time, and Fegman had sounded sincere when he had offered to watch over him.

"Fegman?" he asked.

The elf looked up from the charts he was squinting at. "Yes, your highness?"

"The peredhel I placed under your care, what have you done with him?"

"I put him to work sir," Fegman replied, setting down the chart. "He ought to be fetching firewood for the cooks, if he's not lazing about looking at a book again or asking too many damn questions."

Gil-Galad sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Did I tell you to put him to work?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "I asked you to take care of him, Elrond is a prince Fegman."

"He's half a mortal," was the stubborn reply, "and close enough to the treacherous Sindar that I don't trust him."

Gil-Galad wasn't thinking, his muscles acting of their own will as he grabbed Fegman's collar and lifted him into the air, snarling, "My mother is a Sindar, Fegman. And that boy is worth several of you."

The captured Noldo blinked, staring at his king as though he couldn't quite fathom how he came to be hanging from Gil-Galad's clenched fist. "You never said to give him the gloved treatment."

Gil-Galad dropped him, watching him fall to the ground and cough. "I'll be taking Elrond, Fegman, and if I catch you discriminating against my people again it will not end well." He said nothing else, turning on his heel and leaving Fegman on the ground, rubbing at his sore throat.

Elrond was standing outside, staring at Gil-Galad with worried eyes, no doubt having heard some of the commotion in the tent. "Am I in trouble?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course not." Gil-Galad was well aware of how flustered he must look, having just ended his argument. "Go and fetch your things, you’re coming with me."

Still confused Elrond hurried off, disappearing into one of the many tents lining the path and emerging with the bag he had been carrying when he arrived. Gil-Galad vaguely remembered him having a trunk which had been sent off with Cirdan, but Elrond didn't mention it and so he didn't ask.

"Do you need something?" Elrond asked as he returned, no doubt feeling the king’s inquisitive stare.

"No, I just want, I just came by to check on you," he lied, pinching the bridge of his nose. What on Arda was he supposed to do with Elrond now?

"Is something the matter?" His voice had fallen quiet, and he was staring at Gil-Galad with nervous eyes. The King found himself very close to turning on his heel and returning to give Fegman the beating of his life, but decided against it on the grounds that it might distress Elrond.

"It's not you," he promised, patting Elrond's shoulder. The fabric of Elrond's tunic was even more worn than he had thought, and he made a mental note to have something better found for him. It hung unevenly off his body, and looked several sizes too large.

When the Peredhel caught him staring he said, "It was Russandol's."

It took a moment for Gil-Galad to even remember who Russandol was, but he hid a wince, recalling that Elrond was wearing a shirt that had once been worn by one of the kinslayers.

The elven king didn't ask about the cloak tossed over his shoulder, fur-lined and heavily embroidered, no doubt the possession of royalty, deciding he didn't want to know. The deep blue, a color once favored by Maglor, seemed enough to answer his question for him. "We can find you something warmer," he said finally. "Come along."

Elrond followed behind him diligently, his curious eyes taking in the camp as they walked. "Have you eaten?" Gil-Galad asked, thinking of how they had almost certainly missed dinner, and hoping Cirdan had saved enough for the two of them.

"Not today."

That wasn't what Gil-Galad had been asking, but it was, he supposed, an answer. "We can find you something. Soup, perhaps?" If Elrond hadn’t been eating regularly, and judging by his size he hadn’t been, then Gil-Galad worried about giving him anything too strong.

"Thank you." Elrond was so genuine, his face breaking out in a wide smile at the offer, as though it was the kindest thing he had ever been offered.

Gil-Galad smiled at him, leading him to the simple building that had been constructed to house himself and any important document. Since their arrival the place where they had decided to build their new city Gil-Galad had been meeting with architects and designers there during the day, and in resting in the evening. He and Cirdan, as well as Celebrimbor and a few other members of court, had simple quarters there, but he saw no reason not to find somewhere for Elrond to stay.

Cirdan was seated at the table in the main room, looking over building plans when they entered. "You're late for supper," he said glancing up.

Being in the presence of his foster father never failed to make Gil-Galad feel childish and unable to care for himself. "I have a good reason," he protested.

"If it involves stargazing-"

"No!"

Cirdan finally saw Elrond, and smiled to himself. "Elrond means star-domed, if I am not mistaken. Therefore it does involve stars."

Gil-Galad grumbled under his breath about technicalities, gently pushing Elrond to the table. "Have a seat," he urged. "Be mindful of the papers." Most of the papers from the day's meetings had been stacked and put to the side, but misplacing or shuffling the papers could prove disastrous to their work. Avoiding annoying Celebrimbor was always high on the king’s priorities.

"How are you?" Cirdan asked Elrond.

The Peredhel stared at him, biting his lip uncertainly. "W-well," he said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Gil-Galad rummaged in the shelves to produce a simple meal of meat and cheese with bread.

"I can get that," he offered.

"No need." Gil-Galad set the plate in front of Elrond, noticing that Cirdan was watching them. He shook his head a tiny bit, hinting that the shipwright needed to hold off any questions, and instead sat beside Elrond and helped himself to the meat. "I'm afraid it's not soup," he said. "Have as much as you please."

"It's fine," Elrond promised, smiling broadly at Gil-Galad before helping himself to the meal.

They ate in silence, Cirdan returning his attention to his papers, but occasionally looking up at Elrond and then glancing thoughtfully at Gil-Galad. When Elrond stopped eating – far sooner than Gil-Galad thought he should have – Cirdan sat the paper aside and offered, "Let me fetch you some clean clothes and show you where you may wash up."

When they had made their camp they had roped off parts of the freshwater stream that passed them. Their camp sat between two rivers, which Gil-Galad had chosen for the strategic safety that water could give them, and many small streams and tributaries flowed from the rivers and into the sea. One of the streams had been found to be shallow enough to allow a large area to bathe in, and they had ropled it off accordingly.

Elrond bit his lip, looking as though he might refuse. He didn't though, and followed behind Cirdan saying, "Thank you sir."

Gil-Galad focused on his meal, yawning and rolling his shoulders which were stiff. He would have liked to have retired to bed, but knew that Cirdan was curious enough he would just wake him up to interrogate him, which was why he was still sitting at the table when Cirdan returned.

"I was right about Fegman, then?" he asked curiously, sitting down at the table.

Gil-Galad glared at him. "Possibly," he snapped. He sighed, finally admitting, "Yes, you were right. He doesn't like Elrond because he's a half-elf."

Cirdan laced his fingers together. "Elrond seems rather shaken."

"Food and sleep will help him."

"Are you certain? He doesn't seem well at all.” Cirdan glanced around, as though checking that no one would overhear, then murmured, “I'd say he's been the target of harassment."

Gil-Galad looked up sharply. Of course he had suspected that himself, but that didn’t make it easier to hear it from anyone else. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

Cirdan observed the table for a long moment, seemingly captivated by the grain of the wood. Gil-Galad knew him well enough to know that he was frustrated and stressed, thinking deeply on the problem. "Before we jump to conclusions, we just need to try to let Elrond enter our lives as seamlessly as possible."

"What does that mean?"

"He needs something to do to keep him busy." Finally looking up Cirdan met Gil-Galad's eyes, commenting, "You just said the other day you could use a page."

"Elrond is a prince, Cirdan, he is the son of Elwing, and a direct descendant of both Finwë and Thingol; the blood of a Maia runs through his veins.” Gil-Galad had been well aware of Elrond’s family, and for a time, before he had met him personally, had wondered if Elrond might have a better claim to the throne than he. Now that he had met Elrond, he doubted seriously Elrond had any desire, but he was still careful to keep his ancestors in mind. “He is not a page."

"It's not abnormal work for a prince or high ranking elf to assist the king," said Cirdan with a shrug. "And don't forget he asked you not to call him by any title."

"True," Gil-Galad agreed, looking down at his hands, folded on the table. "Do you think-"

"Elrond! You're back!" Cirdan cut Gil-Galad off mid-sentence and strode to greet Elrond, patting his head and smiling warmly at him.

Gil-Galad glanced over his shoulder, and was shocked by what he saw. Cleaned and wearing clothes that fit him better, Elrond appeared to be much older, but there was still a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and his hands gripping his arms painfully. "Thank you for the assistance," Elrond said with a shy smile.

"Anytime," Cirdan promised. "We've run out of rooms I'm afraid, but you're more than welcome to a cot somewhere." He frowned and looked around the main room.

Gil-Galad didn't like the thought of putting the young elf out on his own, so he called, "He can share my room, Cirdan." To himself he muttered, "Valar knows it's big enough."

Cirdan nodded, placing a hand on Elrond's shoulder and leading him to the back room.

Gil-Galad sighed, knowing he had a long week in front of him that had just become longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Gil-Galad was shaken out of his rest the next morning by Elrond tossing and turning on his cot. Before the king could do anything or think about trying to wake him he fell from the cot and jerked awake as he hit the ground. Elrond groaned and sat up, pushing hair out of his eyes with visible annoyance. He caught a glimpse of Gil-Galad staring at him and said, "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"I needed woken anyhow," he said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than normal."

Given the rather painful and sudden manner in which Elrond had woken Gil-Galad pitied him even more if that was 'better.' He glanced at Elrond, who had stood and was running his fingers through his hair to neaten it. "There's a brush on the dresser."

Elrond picked up the brush and fought to pull it through his hair, which had knotted and clumped since he had fallen asleep while it was still damp. Gil-Galad sighed and sat up, rolling out of bed. When the chill of the room he him he wished he were still buried under the furs, but he ignored the thought after remembering Elrond hadn't had as warm of a place to sleep. "Let me have that."

Elrond handed the brush over obediently, and Gil-Galad began untangling his hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up toward the roots. "Sir I-"

"I don't mind," he promised, noticing Elrond's hesitation. "Truly Elrond, I don't."

Elrond relaxed, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you," he said softly, looking down at his feet.

Gil-Galad smiled and continued working his way through the knots in Elrond's hair. "Tell me about yourself."

"What is there to know?" Elrond asked. "My name is Elrond, my parents and foster family all left me."

Gil-Galad paused, his hand resting on Elrond's head. The peredhel seemed bitter about his fate, his face twisting into a grimace as he spoke. Cirdan had claimed – after the deaths of Gil-Galad's parents – that anger was a normal part of the healing process (this was after he had thrown a fit and torn his room apart, vowing revenge on all Mortals). But Elrond's anger seemed different, his face and movements – clenching his fists – as well as the fact that he never mentioned a specific guilty party, suggested that he was mad at those he mentioned. Perhaps he was angry that they had left him.

He sighed sadly. "I'm certain there's more than that. What do you enjoy?"

Elrond was quiet for a moment, then replied, "Nothing productive, I'm afraid. All of my habits are wasteful."

Gil-Galad doubted that had come from either of the Feanorians – Maglor's hobby certainly was not 'productive' – he suspected that Fegman must have said something. For the life of him Gil-Galad could not decide why Elrond chose to listen to so closely to what the elf had said. "Nonsense ," he said. "There's no such thing as long as you enjoy it. Tell me about your hobbies."

"I don't want to waste your time."

"I enjoy listening to you." It was not entirely true. Fighting with Elrond was certainly not something he enjoyed, but so long as Elrond was wrestling with his demons and insecurities there was no chance of having a happy conversation with him, so if Gil-Galad wanted to be able to enjoy their discussions he was going to have to press on through this.

"You do?" Elrond turned and looked at him.

Gil-Galad felt slightly guilty for having lied, but it wasn't entirely a lie, so he smiled and said, "Of course."

"No one has said that in a long time."

Perhaps that was the problem. Elrond had been taken from the loving arms of his brother and caregivers, and been placed under the care of Fegman, who claimed little love for Feanorians or those of mixed blood. "That's truly a pity, some people simply have poor taste."

Elrond smiled, but hid it quickly. Seeing that he was gaining ground Gil-Galad said, "Tell me about your hobbies."

"I like reading and learning."

"Reading and learning?! There's nothing wasteful about that."

"I'm not meant for such things," Elrond replied, sounding sure of himself. "I'm not meant to be taught."

Gil-Galad rested a hand on his head, staring at him for a long moment. "Pardon?"

"I'm only a half-elf, we're not supposed to be great."

Gil-Galad sat aside the brush and rested his hand on Elrond's shoulders. "Do you think I agree with that sentiment, Elrond?"

"How should I know?" he asked.

"Am I acting as though I think you don't matter?"

Elrond looked up at him, then smiled a bit. "No."

Gil-Galad smiled back. "See? Who are you going to listen to, a king or his subject?"

"That depends, a ruler can be corrupt and wrong, just because someone is in power doesn't mean they should be." Elrond cut himself off suddenly, looking away and his shoulders beginning to shake. "I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me."

"Nonsense," Gil-Galad said. "I want to hear more."

Elrond turned and looked at him quizzically, but when Gil-Galad nodded he continued – albeit slower and more thoughtfully than before. "A king only has power as long as there are people who agree with him – people who follow him. If he loses those then he has no authority with which to rule. Just because he has had power, does not mean he is the best choice, and just because he once was the best choice doesn't mean he always will be. A warlord might be the best bet during times of war, but a warmonger would be a poor king."

Gil-Galad didn't think anyone had ever been quiet so frank with him, and was impressed by Elrond's nerve and intelligence. When he did not immediately say anything Elrond swallowed, asking, "Your highness? Did I say too much?"

"That," Gil-Galad said, "was the most interesting thing I have ever heard. You're brillant."

Elrond turned red. It started with just the tips of his ears, but quickly spread across his face as he looked away. "Thank you."

"I need people who don't agree with me constantly. Do you know how frightening it is to ask for people's opinions on matters of life and death and know that they will agree with you just to appease you because you're the king?"

"No."

At least he was honest. Gil-Galad smiled and picked the brush up off the dresser, continuing his work of untangling his hair. "It’s a nice change, being disagreed with," he remarked.

Elrond smiled. "I'm glad I could help."

Gil-Galad finished his work untangling Elrond's hair in silence. When he finished he set the brush aside and patted his shoulder. "There," he said.

"Thank you. I'm afraid I've not had time to fight with it," he said, blushing.

"Oh?"

"I had work to do."

Gil-Galad felt his guilt returning. He should have kept a better eye on Elrond, and he certainly shouldn't have allowed himself to forget that he existed for so long. "I feel as though I should repeat myself: that was not the situation that I intended for you to be trapped in."

"I'm fine," Elrond promised. "I can adapt."

It certainly seemed that he could and would have to. "I'm glad."

"I- I liked being busy, it kept me from remembering."

"I can keep you busy," Gil-Galad offered, "If it helps."

Elrond smiled. "Please, if its not a bother."

"Of course it's not a bother." Gil-Galad patted his shoulder. "Did you sleep well? Were you warm enough?"

"Yes."

He suspected that Elrond was lying, however, interrogating him would have to wait. Cirdan chose that moment to knock on the door and lean in, saying, "The cook is rather offended that you've not come to breakfast, Gil."

With a sigh Gil-Galad stood up. "And so begins my day. I've already disappointed someone."

"I disappoint people by existing, it seems," Elrond said as he, too stood.

"Don't be absurd," Cirdan snapped. "And don't be late to meals." 

Breakfast was a simple affair, taken at the simple table where they had all their meals, and where the planning of the city took place. Gil-Galad noticed Elrond eyeing the manuscripts with curiosity, but thankfully he didn't ask to see them. If they were damaged in anyway, including getting food on them, the architects would be furious. Once they finished their quiet meal Gil-Galad allowed Elrond to help him move the papers to the center of the table, showing him the rough sketch of how the city was to be laid out in a neat grid.

Elrond frowned and stared at how the city laid between the two rivers. After a moment he asked, "What about expansion?"

"Expansion?"

"There are farmers here-" he pointed to the land upstream from the city- "and water on the other three sides. Where will the city go when it grows? Will you expand across the water and lose the natural barriers, or will you take over the farms?"

Gil-Galad and Cirdan looked at one another. To their knowledge the only farms were on the other side of the rivers, well out of the city's growth patterns. "Farms?" Gil-Galad asked. "Are you certain?"

Elrond nodded. "Where do you think the food is grown? I helped there last week, they have in a large crop of beans."

"We told them not to farm there," Cirdan remarked.

Gil-Galad ran his fingers through his hair. "Let this be a lesson," he said, "sometimes people don't listen to their king."

"There's only one farm, the soil is only fertile in one place, could they stay until the end of the year and then move?" Elrond asked.

Gil-Galad nodded, seeing himself left with little other choice. "Cirdan send them a note telling them to leave at the end of this year's harvest. Those lands are to remain unused so that the city can expand."

"The woods are a good hunting ground," Elrond said. "Did I interrupt you?"

"No." He picked up a pen and scribbled a note on the map, writing where Elrond had noted the farm was and where the forests for hunting were.

Gil-Galad yawned, staring at the map blankly. "Where are the others?" he asked Cirdan.

"Surveying," he replied smoothly. "Celebrimbor is leading them."

Elrond perked up at the mention of Celebrimbor. He had no doubt heard of his distant cousin, but as far as Gil-Galad was aware they had never been introduced. "When will they be back?" he asked. "There's no sense in looking at a map I can hardly understand."

"Not until after lunch."

He wasn't going to stay in the stuffy wooden building that long, so Gil-Galad nodded to Cirdan and replied, "I'm going to check the guard." Starting toward the door he remembered Elrond at the last moment and said, "Elrond would you like to come?"

"If you don’t mind."

"Come on."

He led them out into the open, watching as Elrond winced in the bright sun. "It's later than I thought," he remarked.

Gil-Galad smiled. "Aye," he said. "But at least it's warm today."

Elrond smiled and nodded. "Last night was cold," he said softly.

Gil-Galad felt guilty for the second time that morning over letting Elrond stay outside in the cold. It seemed that Elrond was not overly bothered by it, bouncing along beside him and looking around curiously. Seeing him like this it was easy to forget that he was, in fact, an adult. He seemed so childish and full of life sometimes, and yet at others he was sober and old beyond his time. "Tonight I will find another blanket for you then."

Seeming surprised Elrond turned and looked at Gil-Galad. "You don't need to do that," he promised. "I was fine."

Elrond's words only strengthened the belief that he needed to take better care of him. "I insist."

There seemed to be a hint of releif in Elrond's eyes at those words, and he quietly said, "Thank you, my lord."

The King nodded. "I know I told Cirdan we were going to check on the troops, but a ride might be more fun. Are you good with horses."

Elrond smiled – actually smiled at that. "Yes," he said, eyes lighting up.

Gil-Galad nodded. "Follow me."

They hurried to the stables, and Gil-Galad showed Elrond where his stallion was kept, then let the Peredhel pick out a horse to ride. Surprisingly he chose a rather docile and plain-looking mare, holding his hand out flat and letting her sniff his palm before telling Gil-Galad that he would like to ride her. The stable boys quickly saddled the two horses, and soon they were trotting out of the camp. However excited he had been, it quickly became apparent that Elrond was no prodigy when it came to riding. His technique – if it could be called that – consisted mainly of hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life and holding the reins loosely, hoping the mare went where he wanted it.

Gil-Galad reached over and grabbed the reins of Elrond's mount, steering her to stop. "You didn't say you couldn't ride," he said, mildly annoyed.

"Sorry." Elrond looked down as the horses came to a halt. "I did, a long time ago, I thought it would just come to me."

Gil-Galad bit his lip, resisting the urge to scold Elrond while they were in the camp where they might be seen. "I can show you," he said. "Let me have the reins." Elrond let go and he slipped them over the mare's head, tying them to his own saddle and leading them through the camp. A few elves waved or bowed, and Elrond seemed to shrink back into his cloak each time. Gil-Galad said nothing until they were well out of the camp, but before he could speak Elrond said, "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"You should have," Gil-Galad agreed. Elrond seemed profoundly distressed by what he had done, so Gil-Galad managed a smile and said, "I know you meant well, however, in the future perhaps you could let me know these things?" Since Elrond still seemed distressed, he said, "I am not upset with you, not in the least. You just worried me."

Elrond turned and gave him a strange look, his eyebrows knitting together. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Someone needs to since you clearly don't," he replied with a smile. Gil-Galad passed Elrond his reins, saying, "Hold these and I will show you what to do."

Elrond seemed nervous at the idea of holding his own reins, but he smiled anyway and said, "Alright."

"Press down with your heels; are they in the stirrups?" Slowly Gil-Galad walked Elrond through how he should be sitting, then explain how to make the horse move and turn and stop. Once Elrond seemed to have the hang of it – he was a remarkably quick learner – they walked slowly away from the camp, toward the farms that were across the river. A simple wooden bridge had been constructed, and although it didn't look like much, it supported an impressive amount of weight.

"Am I going to get blisters?" Elrond asked suddenly.

"We won't ride very long or hard, you should be fine. A bld be fine. A bit sore perhaps." Gil-Galad glanced over at Elrond, surprised to see that he had gone tense at the thought, hands clamping on the saddle enough to turn his knuckles white. "Why do you ask?"

"I've had saddle sores before," he said quietly. "They... aren't pleasant."

"I think you'll be fine," he repeated. Although it wasn't his place to ask, he said, "What happened?"

Gil-Galad regretted his curiosity when Elrond looked down at his saddle, not meeting his eyes, and said, "It was when we left Sirion. They never meant to hurt us, but I think they forgot how vulnerable we were."

Gil-Galad's face softened, and he found himself asking, "You seem to care for them deeply."

"I know I shouldn't," he whispered, "I know they did horrid things, but they were nothing but kind to us."

"They drove your parents away."

Elrond's face hardened. "All they did was prove that Elwing and Earendil loved a damned rock more than their own offspring." With that he turned his horse around and dug his heels into her side, she startled and took off.

Realizing that Elrond probably hadn't meant to send the mare into a gallop – and that even if he had meant to he would have no control over her – Gil-Galad leaned over his own mount and urged him after the fleeing horse. Although Elrond had had a head start, Gil-Galad's mount was stronger and faster, and he was by far the better rider, so they caught up quickly. Above the thundering hooves Gil-Galad swore he heard Elrond cry, "Help!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea what direction this story is going in, but that's okay, I'm having fun!

**Author's Note:**

> Fegman is an OC, but he's not terribly important, I just needed him to set the stage for people's distrust of Elrond. His name is a bit of a joke, it means "mean spirited."


End file.
